


But I Never Could Sharpen No Blade, Quite the Way He Say

by halfhardtorock



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, Homophobic Language, Pre-Canon, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-12
Updated: 2014-08-12
Packaged: 2018-02-12 19:11:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2121426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halfhardtorock/pseuds/halfhardtorock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam listened too. “Do you think she’ll make it-”</p><p>Dean rolled his eyes. “This car will make the apocalypse.” Sam carefully opened a coffee and emptied two sugars into it. He put the top back on and handed it to his brother. Dean took it and chugged.</p>
            </blockquote>





	But I Never Could Sharpen No Blade, Quite the Way He Say

 

 

He stopped for coffee, Green Mountain, the brand of gas stations and truck stops all over the northeast. Sam was still asleep, lulled by the tacky sound of their tires on the highway, the burr of passing rigs. His mouth was slightly open, his head tipped to the side where it had been riding the window, making Dean drive carefully not to jog him into it too much. He left the car idling, The Who a low murmur from the classics station. Let Sam sleep a little longer.

He filled up two styrofoam cups to the very edge and got in the checkout line. The early news was on, a reporter in Idaho was silently pointing out the fire line in the hills. Her mouth moved, but the volume was off. Dean squinted and read the captions. He paid and went out into the cool morning.

Pockets full of creamer, he opened the car door and held it with his hip. Bent in and Sam was looking at him. 

“Hey, genius. Take these.” He said, handing over the coffee. Sam shifted across the bucket seat and took them, breathing them in deep. 

“I want sugar-”

“In my pocket, bitch.” Dean said with a grunt as he settled behind the wheel. He felt Sam’s hand fishing around in his leather jacket and ignored him. He started her up, listened closely to her turn over. 

Sam listened too. “Do you think she’ll make it-”

Dean rolled his eyes. “This car will make the apocalypse.” Sam carefully opened a coffee and emptied two sugars into it. He put the top back on and handed it to his brother. Dean took it and chugged.

“How the hell do you do that?” Sam asked, making a face.

Dean wiped off his mouth with his sleeve. “Someday, you’ll be cool too.”

Sam laughed, buckled up and looked out at the road like this was actually going to be fun.

 

 

New Hampshire was barely a breath and then Massachusetts was never-ending toll booths. Everything was grey and hazy, rain cover all the way to PA they said, and Sam shifted in his seat, long cold coffee in the cup holder. And then he just started talking. On and on the way he never did, especially with their father around, and Dean shot him a few looks before he just settled in and listened. 

“-it’s from this theory or, okay, more like a way of living or a life-philosophy called anthroposophy...or maybe that’s just the study. Whatever. Anyway, see...Maura’s dad practices biodynamic farming, and he always has all these really weird, dogmatic arguments for it, using the same catch phrases, right? Well, I was like ‘Maura. Wasn’t that Steiner guy a neo-nazi?’, just to rile her up because that’s just something naysayers use against him, and she’s like ‘Sam, do you want to see something?’ and I’m like ‘okay?’. So she brings me back to her bedroom-”  
Dean stared at him. “-oh, shut up. Not like that. Anyway, we go into the hallway to the closed off part of the house off her bedroom, and in this drawer out back, in this old desk, she pulls out a long white gown. Dean. I swear to god. KKK.”

Dean looked back at the road. “Okay.”

“Really. Can you believe that? In the year 2000, the KKK is still active. And Maura’s family, even. So surreal, man. Right?”

Dean shrugged. “I guess. I don’t even know half of the fucking things you just said Sammy so uh, okay?”

Sam snorted, and shifted restlessly. He crossed his arms like he’d pout, but then something seemed to dawn on him and he turned back to Dean, laughing. “Oh, get this. I was with Diane and Celeste at that Ansel Adams’ show in Portland a few weeks ago and they’ve got maybe a dozen Edward Weston’s in the show too, and a handful of Steiglitz, which Celeste says are the ‘epitome of classic wilderness photography’ but, hello. Ansel Adams?-”

Dean thought about their neighbor, the prep school girl and her plaid skirt, thick, pale thighs and goddamn huge breasts. He spread his legs a little, listless, imaging her in the pool out back, bought by her banker daddy, and her top’s dangling from a lawn chair...

 

 

They were in a diner, very early in the morning, in New York. Sam was drifting against the formica, head on his crooked arm. He shifted his fork through his split open pancake, disinterestedly, as Dean shoveled in sausages and eggs, grease-soaked toast and homefries. 

It was that slate grey time of day, before the sun came up, and Dean watched the forms of men at the pumps, angular cutouts, back-lit by headlights. A kid with a backpack slung over his shoulder stood near the road, thumbing it. It flashed through Dean, complete horror, watching that kid stand out there all alone as cars shushed by and splattered mud. He looked at his brother, at the kid lazily forking his food, and felt like vomiting or blubbering or taking him up in his arms and hugging him or beating the living shit out of him.

Sam looked at him, caught his eye. They stared at each other. “Are your eggs as cold as my pancakes?” he mumbled. “This place is busted.”

Dean looked back out the window. “Eat your food when you get it and it won’t get cold, baby.”

Sam smirked sleepily, dropped his fork on the table. “They brought it to me cold, jerk.” He yawned, long and loud, mouth unhinged. “Want me to drive?” He asked after, smacking his lips. 

Dean huffed. “Right.”

 

 

At the edge of Pennsylvania, he nudged his brother with his elbow. 

Sam woke up with a start.

“Shh. Sammy, north or south?” He asked, quietly. 

Sam looked around, eyes bleary from the tollbooth light’s behind them.

“Don’t wake up.” Dean said gently.

Sam took it like an order and fell back into the seat, head on the window again.

“North or south?” He asked again. 

Sam murmured, nasally, as he took a deep, dreamy breath. “South.”

 

 

They were in West Virginia, and Dean was losing his mind. Tired enough to see things, the edges of the road bleeding into the fields, the trees sort of jumping into two and then quickly merging into one like a bad tv picture. He had to sleep. 

Sam looked up from his book and over at him critically, eyes narrow. “Are you sleeping?” He asked. The impala jerked on the road, and Dean opened his eyes. 

“No.” He said, stubbornly. 

“Dean, it’s been almost two days. I’m not dying in a car accident now.” 

Dean gunned the car for a moment, angry, and then pulled over, thumping into the dirt. The car darted to a stop and he dropped his head forward. 

“Uh, are we gonna stay here for the night?” Sam asked stupidly, looking around at the trees. 

“You’re going to drive.” Dean said, kicking open his door. Sam watched him, frozen.

“Me. You’re gonna let me drive... _your_ car.”

Dean walked around, threw open the passenger door, leaned in and unlocked his brother’s seat belt. “Up. Up!” He said, and Sam shimmied out of the seat and out of the car. Dean pushed the seat forward and climbed into the back, groaning, dropping face forward, one knee hitting the floor hard as he lay down awkwardly. 

“Uhn, put on Enter the Sandman for me.” He said into the slick leather.

There was silence, or just the breathing sound of cicadas. 

“Oh my god, Sam. Get in the car and drive or I will kill you now.”

Sam slammed the passenger door and after a second, got into the drivers seat and slammed that door too. “Uh, watch it.” He said, and pushed the seat farther back to make room for his legs, almost catching Dean’s drifting fingers.

Dean nuzzled into the seat, cocked his head to see his brother counting time on the stick shift, remembering the rules. 

“Just head for the Blue Ridge Parkway. We’ll take that down a little, then drive west.”

“Okay...” Sam said, “Okay. I can do this.”

“You fuck up my car.” Dean muttered. “I’ll break your hands.”

 

 

He woke up when the car stopped suddenly, tires squealing. He had a calm, sure moment of _so this is how I die, letting Sammy park us in a tree_ and then he was scrambling up and looking forward at the deer standing in the middle of the road, antlers high, white in the headlights. 

They watched it silently, and it watched them, flicking it’s ear, hoofing against the road. And then it darted off, flash of fluffy tail, and Dean heard Sam release a long, desperate breath.

“Sam-” Dean began, and then saw the eyes in the woods. Spooked him for a moment, and then he realized that what he was seeing were more deer, deer all over the place.

“What is this, a game reserve.” Sam grumbled. 

“Okay, Evel Knievel, I’ll take it from here.” Dean said, propping open the door.

“It wasn’t my fault.” Sam said, climbing awkwardly across the seat to the passenger side. Dean walked around and took the steering wheel again, sat in and got comfortable. He looked at the headlights, rolled his eyes and flashed on the brights. Sam made an _oh_ sound. “I..forgot about those.” he said, conversationally. 

“You’re on deer watch. Stay awake and keep your eyes on the side of the road.” He revved the engine and watched the deer scatter.

 

 

Up over a roll of the hills, the moon, so fat and nearly full, rose above them, bright like a spotlight. They both ducked forward to watch it, Sam making a contented noise. It followed them, riding the cliffs and treetops. Dean rifled through his tapes, pulled out one and put it in. 

_if it keeps on rainin’, levee’s goin’ to break  
if it keeps on rainin’, levee’s goin’ to break_.

 

 

In Tennessee, they were walking back to the car with an armful of chips and salsa and Dean’s ubiquitous snack cakes when a woman came running across the parking lot, yelling.

A man getting gas dropped his pump and it snaked out of his hands, gas drizzling all over his legs as he stumbled away. Sam and Dean turned their heads, watched her sternly as she ran to each person in the parking lot, hysterical.

“It took them! There’s something out in the woods, and it took them! Fuck! Fuck!” She ran to them, grabbing Dean’s arm and all the chips fell out of his hands. “We didn’t see it coming, and then it was there. What is it?! What _is_ it?!”

Dean grabbed her by the elbows. “What else did you see.” He said, voice calm.

Her eyes were black, shocky and blinking. She looked at him like she didn’t know he was even there, surprised. 

“Hey, it’s okay now.” Sam came in, touching her back. “But you need to tell us what you saw.” 

They both held onto her, corralling her in. Her head reeled back, and Dean shook her a little.

“Hey, what are you guys doin’ to that lady?” The man asked weakly, looking up from where he’d hidden between the pumps. 

“You need to tell us.” Dean said, eyes on hers.

“We were leaving the game and it came out of-it was all _hairy_. It brushed against me, I couldn’t move, and it’s hair was all wiry like a dog. Like a dog. But it was walking like a man. It was like a man but it was _breathing_...” She said. And then she was screaming again. 

Dean stepped away, letting her go. Sam followed. 

“Oh, nah-uh.” Sam said.

“Sounds like they’ve got a wolf.” Dean said back, eyes darting to the woods on the other side of the highway. 

“ _Nah-uh_.” Sam said again. They walked back to the car, listening to the woman crying behind them. “Tell me you brought some weapons. Please.”

Dean snorted. “Of course I did, moron.”

He hitched open the trunk, looking defensive. Sam peered in and groaned. “A machete and a tank of gasoline, Dean?”

“homosayswhat?” Dean spat out, grabbed the machete and slammed the trunk.

“What?” Sam said, surprised. 

Dean chuckled. He beckoned Sam to the road and waited for traffic to clear. Then he jogged over to the lush woods. Sam hung back and then jogged to catch up.

“How we gonna do this?” Sam asked, taking in a long, humid breath. 

“Cut its fucking head off.” He looked and saw the gas can in Sam’s hand, rolled his eyes. “What are you gonna do with that?”

“I don’t know, Dean. It’s all you fucking brought!”

They ran through the gravel and then the long grass to the heavy woods. Dean pushed against the woods but the woods pushed back, verdant and overgrown, vines everywhere, eating up the trees, covering the treeline. “Fuck!” Dean swore. “How the hell am I supposed get through here?”

Sam gave him a look that said _you are a sad fucking asshole_ , and motioned to the machete in his hands. Dean let out a disgusted huff and brought the blade down hard on a vine, slicing right through. 

“Just like that time in Wisconsin.” Dean instructed, and Sam nodded. They fought their way into the woods, hearing the purring sounds of the werewolf feeding, low like a motorcycle in the distance.

 

 

They slept for a day afterwards, and would have gone longer but they were on a deadline. Dean got up first and hit Sam’s exposed feet, the blanket too short to cover all of him. Sam got up, moaning. 

“Your back still hurt?” Dean asked, pulling on his shirt.

“I can’t turn my head this way.” Sam said tiredly, pointing left. “Tried to rip my arm out of the socket.” 

Dean came over and sat next to him, touching his cool hands to his brother’s neck, assessing. “Think it pulled it out of the socket?”

Sam yawned, then flinched when Dean began massaging down his neck to his shoulder. 

“I don’t think so. I was tired enough to sleep like that, but not anymore. Would have woken up screaming.” 

Dean smiled lightly, eyebrows raising as he took a closer look at the bruises just beneath the neck of Sam’s tee. 

“Can you see it?” 

“Yeah.” Dean murmured. “But only when I look underneath. Don’t worry. No one else will see it.”

Sam sighed, grateful. “I’ll just wear long sleeves for a while.”

Dean nodded, agreeing.

 

 

He was used to having his father there, like a buffer. He didn’t realize, but 5 days on the road with the kid and he wanted to shove him out of the moving car. His knuckles whitened on the steering wheel.

“I’m right. Admit it.” Sam said stubbornly.

“I. will. kill. you.” Dean gritted out. 

Sam gasped, and Dean felt mildly gratified before he looked and saw the lighted ferris wheel, turning against the sky. 

“Oh, no.” He said.

“Okay. We’ve had a bad day. I’ve been a pain in the ass. I know that now...” Sam began his argument.

“Sammy, please.” He whined.

“Look. Stop here or I’ll tell you about the dogme-style of modern, spontaneous dance in uh, Iceland.” 

Dean jerked the wheel and they flew into the fairgrounds.

 

 

They bought hotdogs and fried dough and walked around, eating, watching the teenagers on the rides. A group of smirking girls walked by and looked back twice at Dean, so he licked his lips and blew them kisses. They smiled, still gazing, which unnerved him. They had to be 14, and he’d expected them to giggle and scatter.

“I’m too old for this.” Sam said thoughtfully, licking the powdered sugar off his fingers. 

Dean shrugged. “Maybe.”

“It’s weird. I always thought this was something I was missing out on.”

They watched a ride whip a few people in circles, their hair streaming out along with their screams. “That looks fun.” Dean said without much conviction.

Sam laughed. “Wow. Can you imagine, doing something to _make_ yourself scared? How fucked up is that?”

“Yeah. It’s like watching horror movies to get your kicks. I never got that. I wouldn’t watch them if I didn’t have to-” Dean couldn’t find the words. 

“Study them? Practice techniques?” 

“Yeah.” Dean said, dropping his uneaten fried dough into a trash barrel. 

“Yeah. I kind of like them.” Sam admitted.

Dean looked at him, then over at the flashing lights and ringing bell of the strong man game. 

“They always do all the wrong things in those movies. It’s kind of...comforting.”

 

 

They had beers at the gambling tent and rolled dice. Sam kicked at the already used casino cards that were scattered in piles all around the tent. Dean touched his tongue to his top lip, shook his dice and rolled lucky sevens. He catcalled, and everyone around let out defeatist groans. 

“I’m a little drunk.” Sam divulged, leaning into him. Dean nudged him away and shook the dice again. “Dean.”

He rolled a 3 and a 5 and huffed in disappointment. 

“I’m a little dizzy, Dean.” Sam said faintly.

“Okay, okay.” Dean said, hastily taking up his money. “You sick?” 

Sam leaned into him all the way out of the fairgrounds to where the car was parked in a field, dewed over. 

“No. I’m okay. I just need to sleep. Too long.” Sam said. Dean walked him to the car and fumbled in the dark with the keys. Sam laughed beside him.

“Denmark.” Sam said. 

“What?” Dean joggled the key and got the door open, depositing his brother in.

“I meant, Denmark. Not Iceland. That’s where they dance dogme-style.”

Dean dropped his head into his arm. “Oh fucking A, Sam. I stopped for this stupid carnival...”

Sam laughed again, sleepily. “I know. I’m going to sleep now.” And then he was out. 

 

 

Utah was red rocks. They drove silently, looking into canyons and through arches and at the steep line of towers in the distance. Dean turned off the music and the whole state was like meditating, until 2 o’clock came around and Sam started laughing like he’d piss himself. 

“What?” Dean asked, even though he felt the hysteria bubble up in his chest too.

“It’s so *hot*” Sam said, wheezing. 

“You’re goin’ crazy, boy.” Dean said. And then they were both laughing, bent over the dash, Sam slapping his hand on his chest.

“I think I’ve got heat stroke.” Sam said, like it was the biggest joke in the world. 

A huge crow wavered over the car as they passed, casting a shadow like an omen. Sam looked, in awe. Dean frowned. It was like looking into the messy, stitched together edges of the world. 

They looked over at each other. “Jesus.” Sam breathed. 

Reality flexed around them, moving like water on the road up ahead, like rain in the distance. 

“Nothing is easy and simple, is it?” Sam asked, looking out the window. 

 

 

The bay was beautiful, water grey and roiling. But they were close to the end, and neither of them felt like doing anything more then sit around, drink, and watch the television. 

It was 8 o’clock and they were already drunk, watching a guy custom-detail tiger stripes on his lifted bronco. Dean slumped down, kicked off his boots.

“So is there anything else you want to do?” Dean asked, slurring.

Sam shrugged, eyes on the spray paint on the tv. “Like what?”

“Want to lose your virginity?” Dean belched. 

Sam looked like someone had done an unspeakable act to him. “What?” He choked.

“There’s some hookers on the road by the liquor store-”

“You did not ask me that. You did not just _burp_ and ask me that...”

Dean laughed. “Shit. I think I did, man.”

“Dean, I’m not a virgin!” Sam spat out, outraged.

Dean was genuinely surprised. “No?” He looked over at his little brother, saw the consternation on his face. “What? How was I supposed to know? I thought you’d tell me.”

“Why would I tell you?” Sam asked, sarcastic.

“Because I’m your big brother and you should tell me everything!”

Sam got up and reached for another beer, cracking it open. “You’re an asshole.” 

“Did you tell dad?”

“Oh, right. Yeah. I was like ‘Hey, old man. Guess who got some pus-say tonight? And it wasn’t Dean’.”

Dean laughed, head falling back on the pillow. “Okay, stupid question.”

“Yeah...”

After a few minutes, Dean rolled over, holding his beer in front of him and flicking at the tab. “Tell me what happened?” He asked.

Sam made an annoyed sound, but he lay back and turned to Dean too. “Don’t laugh at me.”

Dean looked at him, questioning. “Why would I laugh at you?”

Sam dropped his arm over his eyes. “Because. It’s embarrassing.”

Dean smiled, fondly. “Okay, I won’t. Just tell me.”

Sam rolled onto his back, sighing. He was quiet for a moment and then he blushed and covered his eyes again. “Remember that girl in Vermont? She came over a few times when I had that stupid diorama due for science class?”

Dean thought back, remembered the girl. She was a tiny, curvy little thing with black rimmed glasses and dark, boy-cut hair. Dean was surprised. Thought she was a dyke.

“Yeah, okay. What was her name? Vanessa?”

“Mmmm.” Sam disagreed. “Veronica. We were just friends, you know? We had that project together and that was kind of it. She was cool. She used to make me laugh.”

“Yeah.” Dean said, prompting him to go on. 

“Oh my god, I can’t believe I’m telling you this...” Sam moaned, smiling helplessly.

“Dude. Get to it.”

Sam kept his eyes covered, bit his lip. “Okay. We were at the house and you had that poker game on Mondays and dad was out of state for week or something. She came over and we were just working, for a long time, just...really. Working and nothing was between us at _all_...”

Yeah?” Dean said again.

“I can’t remember what I was doing, but it doesn’t really matter because what she did was totally unexpected. I mean, I never gave her any indication...Okay, okay. So I’m sitting there at the kitchen table and she just kind of hops up from her chair, pushes the whole table back and climbs onto my lap.”

“Woah.” Dean breathed. Sam laughed again. 

“Dude. She just sort of...shimmies all over the place and I’ve got glue on my hands, so I can’t do anything but sit there and...oh my god. I’m such an idiot. I just kept asking her ‘What are you doing? What are you doing?’ and then she’s got these tiny fingers and she’s unzipping me and reaching in and jerking. Me off.” Sam coughed, cheeks flushed bright red. Dean smiled, cupped his hand under his head and listened closely.

“So I’ve never even been that way with a girl, you know? I would have probably been just as happy-but she tipped up and god. She just sort of. She wasn’t wearing any underwear so you know she-I lasted about 10 seconds” Sam stuttered. Then he stopped and moaned. “Don’t you ever talk about this to me again.”

Dean laughed, long and happy. “You can’t stop there. C’mon. Did you even like it?”

Sam looked at him, exasperated. “Of course. I wasn’t catatonic. It was really nice.”

Dean thought for a moment and then frowned. “You didn’t use protection.”

“Oh. I didn’t even...she pulled off before-”

Dean got up and loomed over him. “You need to always use protection, _Sammy_. Jesus. You want to really fuck up your life?”

Sam’s face twisted and he pushed up and slipped off the bed. “If I wanted a lecture, I’d-”

They both knew what he was going to say, and their father, even 100 miles way, stood between them like a stonewall.

 

 

They drove into campus, and Dean felt his stomach sort of lurch and fall deeper into his guts.

Sam had nothing, just a duffle and a battered pillow. But they dropped them off anyway at the dorm room where another kid had already set up a computer and put pictures of a golden retriever and a pretty blonde girl in a graduation gown up on a cork board. Dean sat on the striped, saggy mattress and looked around for a moment. Completely, utterly exhausted. Like he’d be that way forever. 

They spent the afternoon in the hot bookstore, as Sam shuffled along the line, staring seriously at his list of textbooks, and Dean just funeral-marched with him. 

“$458.99.” The guy behind the counter said cheerily. Sam gasped. Dean flipped out a credit card and the guy took it. 

Sam looked at him like he was looking into the ocean, long and overwhelmed. 

“Just sign here, Mr. Savage.”

 

 

They sat in the impala, waiting for the day to end, sick to their stomachs. 

“There’s a few things...” Dean began, taking a breath. “I know you have that blade in your duffle. No, I’m glad. It’s a good one. Always keep a fine edge on it. Use flint when it’s wet, not matches. If you find yourself into a girl, and she smells like a mix between peaches and milkweed, back the fuck off. Attack first. Keep your fists low, head up. And white lights in the woods can be all kinds of things: reflecting headlights, streetlights, fireflies. But blue lights are _never_ normal-”

“Dean.” Sam whispered, voice tight. “What if I don’t...fit in.”

They sat quietly together, heads tipped close. Dean sighed. “Sam. That’s not even remotely possible.”

 

 

Dean was kind of planning this, in the doomed, worried way people plan for jumping out of planes or facing the darkness in the alley. He had an idea how it would go, but goodbyes are never like that. It happened more quickly than he’d guessed. Sam got out of the car. He got out of the car. There was a brief, forced hug between them and then Sam slapped him once on the back. “Remember to take the side roads out. The main road’s gonna be full of freshmen coming in.” Sam said. Dean nodded, _affirmative_. 

“Okay. Have a good trip.” Sam said, and smiled weakly. Dean smiled back. “Hey.” Sam called to him suddenly, after stepping away. “Can you believe that werewolf thing?”

Dean shook his head, grinning.

And then they parted. 

 

 

He was in Nevada, driving with the sun in his eyes. He opened the glove compartment, grabbed his cell and turned it on for the first time since they’d left. He dropped it, and it instantly burred across the seat and fell on the floor, buzzing angrily into something that muffled its ring. He looked over and saw Sam’s cold weather coat bunched up in the foot well.

It hit him, exactly what he should have said:

_This world, it’s a whole new world. It’s a different world. And I want you to be happy, but it’s not the **real** world, Sammy. Nobody is gonna know anything about spirits and haunts and salt-shot and burning bones. When the people in this world hear about that kind of thing, they just laugh. They don’t know any better, and that’s why we’re always saving their asses. Otherwise, they’d just stand there like a bunch of cows in a slaughter house. _

_I think it must be really...seductive, to be that innocent and naive. But it’s not us, Sammy. God, please. Please believe in it. Keep your eyes open. Don’t let them make you stop seeing. Please. Please. Please, Sammy. Please. Be safe._

He parked the car on the side of the road and pushed the door open. The sun was thumping, fucking up his sight and heart rate. His phone was trilling for him. He wasn’t sure what would happen. 

He got out, stood shakily in his boots.

He was in the breakdown lane, screaming.

 

 


End file.
